


Syncope of the heart

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-17
Updated: 2013-05-17
Packaged: 2017-12-12 02:19:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/806027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Let me.” That he means in more ways than one but right now he waves his wand, mutters a spell and the honey is gone. Sirius grins and ‘thanks, Moony’ tastes sour, blinding, painful, oh, weighing more than ten thousand tons of bricks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Syncope of the heart

**Author's Note:**

> Remus is in love and Sirius is an oblivious idiot.

“All alright there, Remus?” Sirius says, and Remus pretends he says it to the boiling water on the stove which is almost about to spill over. Just about to bubble and explode and spill and shatter into a thousand little burning droplets. But the kettle is not called Remus and the kettle isn’t desperately in love with the one thing in this world that eats love for breakfast.

“Yes,” he answers and, _No, it’s not,_ he thinks, _No it’s not, Sirius, it never was_. This has become his own personal mantra by now. _Yes, Sirius it’s fine, I don’t mind, yes of course, sure I’ll go, I understand, Bye, Hi, How was it? Blonde this time? No, red-head? Good, Bye, Brunette? I lo…long legs? Nice. Bye. Later. Good. Good.Yes. Yes, it’s fine._

“Good. Tea?” A question, a heartbreaker, from somewhere inside the fridge and Remus knows Sirius is looking for a half-empty jar of honey because Remus drinks his tea with honey and lemon and just a touch of ginger.

He just nods because there are no words that can redeem the whipping of the years, and there is no story out of which you can make a web for catching time. “Sirius.?” He tries anyway and thinks _Why, you stupid, stupid, pathetic man .Every god damn time!_

“Fuck, shit! ” Sirius curses, dropping the jar on the floor where it breaks and spills. Sticky, sweet, destroyed, perfectly golden mess. Noise.

 _Fuck, shit._ Remus looks at his raven-haired wonder for a fraction of a second too long…and that's all that takes for a hundred million ‘no’s to start firing off in his head and, why, he curses, why he was even sorted into Gryffindor because his courage is all curled up in a corner, tail between its legs. 

Fuck, Merlin…he chokes on the words and says nothing. He never says anything. But he knows, he knows that three autumns and fifty two Wednesdays from now, a few minutes after midnight, Sirius will stop in front of a stuttering blue neon sign…and then he’ll understand…The grey breath of a memory will carefully blow the dust out from this old, silly little fence of possessiveness Remus has so foolishly built around the hidden garden of Sirius’ blossoming ambitions…

And he will sigh, probably. Little molecules of light will melt in those storm-flecked-sky-silver eyes, like a reflection of the stars in the water…He’ll be alone, Remus hopes…Because, in that moment, in the rhythm of his pulse, he will feel that restless, vital syncope that Remus has been trying to hear in the echoes of their silences…Silence. Yes.

And then he’ll finally know that he is the only thing that Remus has ever loved…That he loved everyone else with the dark side of the heart…Saving his best for him….Learning how to love him.

“Oh Christ, look at this mess, and Monica will be here any second.” Sirius curses and Remus catalogs another meaningless name of Sirius’ one night escapades. And it still hurts. Every time it hurts.

“Let me.” That he means in more ways than one but right now he waves his wand, mutters a spell and the honey is gone. Sirius grins and ‘thanks, Moony’ tastes sour, blinding, painful, oh, weighing more than ten thousand tons of bricks.

_In case you didn’t notice, you reckless, wonderful, terrifying, broken, perfect thing, I have feelings too and that subtle stupidity that you call a heart._

The doorbell rings. The world melts. And the kettle whistles.


End file.
